In a Heartbeat (14 page)

“It’s not you,” she lied. “Our field budget is just about spent. There’s a few loose ends, but I think we can resolve those from the office.”

“Figures.” He flagged down the waiter for the check. “Just when I find a friend, she runs off.”

“Well, maybe I won’t run too far,” she said, feeling empowered by his mention of their pact. “I’d like to talk to you about additional services.”

“Additional services?” he repeated, placing an appropriate number of bills on the table. “Sounds expensive.” He helped her with her coat as her confidence slowly deflated. “I’m not sure now is the right time, but we’ll discuss it on our way back. Shall we?”

* * *

“Bummer.” Max studied the decided tilt of the Ford Civic and the spill of black rubber around the left front tire. “You got a spare?”

Bummer
summed up her day perfectly. First the public argument with Wilson in the parking lot, then the emotional outburst in front of Hank, followed by his refusal to consider additional services, followed by the discovery that she had caught part of her coat in the car door. It had dragged in the muck from Granville back to Hayden. Not unlike her own self-esteem, she added mentally. Now this.

“I don’t understand.” She set her bulky audit bag on the curb.

“Everything was fine at lunchtime. This tire wasn’t even low.” She groaned. “Why me? Why now?”

“Who knows? Maybe you picked up a piece of glass.” Max stripped off his suit coat and dropped it across the audit bag. He rolled up his sleeves, then loosened his tie. “Got your keys?” She handed them to him.

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He crossed to the trunk and removed the jack and spare tire. “Ever change a tire?” Angie shook her head. “Then watch and learn.”

Angie watched so intently, she missed the shadow that fell over the precariously tilted car.

“Is there a problem here?”

Angie bumped into the adjacent car in response to his voice. Her hand fluttered to her heart.

“Mr. Renard,” Max called in greeting. “Angie’s having a little bit of a problem with a flat.”

“I see.” Hank slipped his hand under Angie’s arm to help steady her.

“Do you need any help?”

“No, I think I’ve got it here.” Max pulled the bad tire off the rim and rolled it to the back of the car for closer inspection.

Angie removed Hank’s hand from her arm. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Renard, but you can see Max has everything under control.”

“I’ll be darned,” Max glanced up to Angie. “I think you better take a look at this.”

Both Hank and Angie hurried to the back of the car.

“Here’s the problem.” Max pushed down on the sidewall, exposing an inch wide slash in the rubber. Hank and Max exchanged glances.

“What is it?” Angie asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It looks like this was no accident.” Max said.

“Someone slashed your tire.” Hank added.

“Who would do something like that?” Angie poked around the gash as if the perpetrator had carved his initials in the rubber. “Why would someone want to slash my tire?”

“Good question,” Max said. He looked at Angie, then Hank, before fitting the tire in the trunk. He rolled the spare to the naked axle.

“You’ll have to replace that tire,” Hank said. “Do you have insurance?”

She nodded. “Why would someone do that?” She shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked up at Hank. “Do you think it could be a www.samhainpublishing.com 103

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mistake? Someone thought my car was someone else’s?” She glanced around the parking lot, hoping to see another Civic parked nearby. Not a one in sight.

“Could be.” He followed her gaze around the parking lot. “Or it could be something else. Either way,” he lowered his voice, “be careful.”

* * *

“It’s good to be home, isn’t it, girl?” Angie bent down to brush her hand along Oreo’s back before she slipped the key into the front door lock. The dog raced inside before her, but she followed close behind. She closed the front door and stumbled into the nearest chair. “Let me catch my breath for a minute.” Oreo finished her inspection of the house and returned triumphantly to flop at Angie’s feet with her favorite squeaky toy.

Immediately, the phone began to ring. “Let the machine get it,” she instructed the dog, then laughed when Oreo cocked her head at the suggestion.

“Angela? It’s Mom. Are you sure it’s wise to move back to the house?

Stephen was quite upset that you moved out and were driving home by yourself. I’m not sure I approve.” Angela grimaced, remembering the argument she and Stephen shared when she drove the Civic to his place after work. It sure didn’t take him long to get Mom on his side.

“I’m a little worried, dear, with your foot and all. Stephen said the weatherman is calling for sleet turning to snow tonight. Call me when you get in so I’ll know you’re all right. Perhaps I should find someone to stay with Ceal and come home. You shouldn’t be all alone with… What’s that?” Angie could hear background voices but couldn’t make out the words. The tape continued, “Ceal sends her love. I have to go now. Call me. I love you.”
Click.

Angie pushed herself out of the chair and walked to the kitchen. She drew a large glass of tap water and stared out the back window. Given the weather forecast, perhaps tonight wasn’t the best night to investigate 104

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that strange address for Timone Industries.
It’s probably nothing
, she told herself. She squinted out the window, but it was too dark to see anything. No point driving out in bad weather to check out a legitimate address.

“You feeling neglected?” she asked the plants on the windowsill, giving them a drink from the glass in her hand. “I bet Stephen forgot all about you when he stopped by for the mail.” The phone rang. Angela sighed and dumped the rest of the water unceremoniously on the dieffenbachia. She picked up the receiver. “Hi, Mom, I was—”

Click.
She looked at the receiver as if it could tell her who had just hung up on her. “Okay, if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay with me.”

She headed for the kitchen to fill Oreo’s dog dish. “We sure could use a nice, quiet night at home, couldn’t we, girl?”

The dog’s tail wagged a few times, then stopped. Oreo issued a low warning growl, seconds before someone knocked on the door.

“Just a minute.” Angela frowned at the dog, which ran down the front hallway at full bark. She placed the filled dish on the floor, then cautiously opened the door enough to peek outside. “Oh, Mr. Thomas, uh, Walter.” She reached down and caught Oreo by her collar.

She shuddered, something about that man… What did Hank call him, a little weasel? Holding the dog by her side, she opened the door a little wider.

“I just stopped by to see how you were. Your brother said you had an accident.”

“That’s very neighborly of you,” she said dismissing the other adjective that had sprung to mind. “It was nothing serious, just the leg.”

She feigned a quick laugh and tried to gesture to her plastic cast, but Oreo pulled so hard in an attempt to lunge at the man, it threw her a little off balance. Walter jumped back a foot or so.

“Oreo,” she scolded. “Stop that.”

“I’m just next door if you need anything,” Walter added in full retreat.

“I’m glad to see you back.”

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“Me too.” she replied, but he was already halfway across the front yard. “You bad dog,” she lectured as she closed the door. “That wasn’t very nice.” Oreo drooped her ears and head. Even her tail lowered an inch or two before slowly resuming its steady sideways swing.

Alone once again, Angela surveyed the living room. A shiver tripped down her spine, but she brushed it off. A few lit candles would banish the stuffiness, she decided, and an evening wrapped in one of her mother’s quilts with a cup of hot chocolate and an intriguing romance novel would chase the uneasiness from her bones. But first, a call to Mom before the phone started ringing again.

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Safely ensconced in the firm’s library, Angela studied the audit workpapers spread on the conference table. The walls of leather-bound books and the hint of wood polish normally instilled a comforting sense of tradition. Today, however, an anxiety pricked at her consciousness, disturbing the serene environment.

“How many documents couldn’t they find?” she asked Max.

“Just three, but Beth said Accounts Payable hired this goofy file clerk about six months ago. She only lasted two months, but they still haven’t cleaned up the damage she did to the filing system.” Max’s brows lifted.

“Is that so bad? They found forty-seven of the fifty I asked them to pull.”

“That’s not the point, Max. We requested a sample of invoices.

Missing anything in a sample could mean we’re looking at the tip of an iceberg. There could be lots of missing invoices.”

“Or it could mean they couldn’t find three invoices.” Max ran his fingers down his scarlet and gray striped tie, accidentally triggering the little metal insert that played the Ohio State University fight song in tinny notes. Angela leaned back in her chair.

“You’re starting early, aren’t you? The big game’s not till this Saturday.”

“It’s never too early for football. The whole city is gearing up for the game. Some alumni you are,” he scolded, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing scarlet and gray.”

Angie reached in her pocket and rolled a buckeye, the symbol of the university’s football team, across the table.

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“I knew it.” Max caught the nut as it wobbled to the table edge. “Do you have tickets?”

“Are you kidding? My alumni status earned me a bleacher seat for a non-conference game. I gave it to my brother. He’s a bigger fan than I am.” She didn’t add that she’d never attended a football game. Her imperfect heart and an over-protective family wouldn’t allow it.

“A bunch of us are going to Timothy’s to watch the game on the big screen. You can always join us.” Max rolled the buckeye back to her.

“We’ll see.” Angie slipped the charm back in her pocket. “Meanwhile, I think we should get back to business.”

Max slid the workpaper over to his side of the table. “What do you want me to do? I could write up the missing invoices for the letter of recommendations,” Max offered. “Or I could go back out there and look at some more invoices.” He tilted his head, accurately reading Angela’s mind. “Of course, if I go back out, we’ll probably overrun the budget for interim work.”

“Something about this whole thing isn’t right.” She hesitated, staring at the papers. “Were the missing invoices all from the same vendor?”

“Nope. Three different invoices, three different vendors.” Max slipped his hands deep in his pants pocket. “What’s it going to be?”

She hesitated for a moment. “I definitely want you to write this up for the letter of recommendation. At the very least, not producing the documents shows a lack of control over processed invoices. Then, take another look to see if there’s some commonality between the three. Were they all processed in the same month? Were they for the same item?

Would the same accounts payable clerk have been responsible for them?”

One of the office secretaries poked her head around the library door.

“Angie? Mr. Falstaff wants to see you.”

A solid weight plummeted through her stomach.

“Be right there,” she called in what she hoped was a confident tone.

She glanced up at Max, noting his conflicting expressions of sympathy and curiosity. “See if you can find something to tie this down a little 108

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tighter.” She pushed away from the table. “Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

Angela managed her way down the hallway to the corner office with hardly a wobble. As long as she stayed off her feet for most of the day, her plastic brace and unattractive tennis shoe remained the only evidence of her mishap last week.

The secretary’s desk was empty, but the door to Falstaff’s office stood ajar. Angela paused to knock on the doorframe before entering.

“Angela, come in. Come in.” Falstaff didn’t rise, gesturing instead to the two chairs in front of the paper-strewn desk. “Have a seat.” She selected the chair closest to the door, sitting uncomfortably erect on the edge of the seat. “I understand you’ve made quite an impression on Mr.

Renard.”

Panic quickened Angie’s heartbeat. Who told? She tried to remember if anyone had passed the two of them in the car that first night, or had someone overheard an argument? Maybe after he dismissed the need for additional services, Hank had decided to dismiss her as well and called Falstaff. No, Hank’s invitation for friendship was sincere. Wasn’t it?

“After his initial reaction, I had thought there might be problems. The thing is—” He removed his wire rim glasses and let them hang from his fingers. “Renard’s offered Falstaff and Watterson four seats to the Ohio State football game this weekend. He insists the audit team attend.”

“I beg your pardon?” Angie asked, stunned that she wasn’t the recipient of a client relations lecture.

“Hayden Manufacturing has a box at the stadium. Excellent seats.

Owens invited me a few years back. That was some game, let me tell you.” He squinted in Angela’s direction. “Quite a coup for you and young Max to be invited.”

“Can we accept? I mean,” Angela stumbled. “Wouldn’t this threaten our independence and all that?”

“A football game?” Falstaff laughed, barely able to resettle his glasses on his nose. “Seriously, this gives you a perfect opportunity to talk to Renard about extended services, and I’ll be right there to help you along.”

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“You’ll be there?” Her initial sense of bewilderment rapidly descended into panic. She hadn’t mentioned Hank’s earlier dismissal of the entire subject, hoping Falstaff would forget this condition of her promotion.